


similar: fine, quality, superior/similar: portents, signs, signals

by negativeman



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, it's another reverse au and yes crowley is raphael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negativeman/pseuds/negativeman
Summary: An angel and a demon share the first of many lunches in the first garden under the first rain.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	similar: fine, quality, superior/similar: portents, signs, signals

**Author's Note:**

> based on a roleplay my best friend and i did; almost all of azazel's dialogue is credit to her with her permission. in my mind angel-crowley and demon-crowley's biggest difference is the fact his curiosity was never punished, and that's something i enjoy exploring... i might do more of these two because we've got a Ton of content of them and i'm fond
> 
> raphael uses they/them pronouns

There is an angel in the garden of Eden.

  
They aren't meant to be there: they're impatient, insatiable, enthralled with the brand new Earth. Every sensation they meet delights them. The colors, the sounds, the smells. God has not called for their return, and they answer to very few others. This, to them, is a form of permission.

  
There is a demon in the garden of Eden, though he doesn't look the part.

  
He takes the form of a great white owl, and puts off what he is meant to do there. His time as a follower of Lucifer marks him as young-- he can recall very little from before the Fall. The day that he perches on one of the lower branches of the forbidden tree and encourages Eve to taste its fruit, the sky above is heavy with what will be the first rain. The scent of the greenery is stronger because of it. 

  
The counterparts who should not be in the garden at all but are still watch Adam and Eve trek across the sand. The angel is leaning against a tree. A different tree, that is, than the one which had caused the aforementioned exile. The owl-that-is-a-demon lands on a branch just above them and tilts his head, opening his beak to ask: "Why don't you help them?"

  
The angel knows now that this is not one of God's newest creations, but a foe in disguise. They turn their face to look up at him and the furrow of their brow smooths out. "Who am I to challenge God's decisions?" they ask, which is a lie insomuch as a rhetorical question can be. They had in fact spoken to Adam and Eve before they departed and encouraged them to look for a particular star when night fell should they fail to find shelter beforehand, a star which would lead them to safety.

  
Eve is with child, after all. The concept of a smaller even more defenseless human is terrifying in its helplessness.

  
The demon thinks that this angel is very pretty. The angels who guard the gates are lovely, too, but it is a loveliness which is disciplined and guarded, perfect all over in a way that makes him feel the absence of his own angelic qualities starkly. This angel's beauty is not like that, and he wonders if perhaps it does not belong in Heaven. He wonders if they know that. "Won't you feel guilty, if they die?" he asks, blinking down at them. "I will."

  
The angel continues to watch the ever-smaller silhouettes of Adam and Eve as they reply. "Guilt falls on those at fault," they say, and their great wings expand, lifting them to the limb he's sitting on so that they can stand beside him. "You're a demon. Your actions were purposeful. Why should you feel guilty?" but before he can reply, they add, "They won't die." and it is gentler.

  
The demon is a shade startled by this development in proximity, and does poorly at pretending like he isn't. "I was doing my job," he says, curtly, "that doesn't mean I liked it." and with that he takes on his own human face. The only remaining feature of his avian vessel are his eyes, which remain wide and black and pupil-less. If one looked close enough, there might seem galaxies inside of them.

  
Wings fold into their back as the angel watches him, sidelong, and they reply, "A demon with a conscience is a contradictory thing, isn't it, eh...?"

  
"Azazel."

  
"Azazel," they repeat.

  
"Not so long ago," the demon continues, with the air of someone who would like to seem important, "I was an angel, too. Perhaps as time goes on, my conscience will..." he gestures, frowning. 

  
The angel says, "I hope so. For your sake." and the demon purses his lips. 

  
After a moment, he dares, "Pardon me, but you aren't like the angels I remember."

  
They're still acclimating to their own Earthly body, and twitch when their long red hair brushes their cheek as the winds pick up and storm clouds which have yet to be named such roll in. "What _do_ you remember?" they've turned their unblinking gaze from Adam and Eve to him, now.

  
He remembers the pain, and he remembers the cruelty of those who claimed they were his family. He doesn't say that. Instead: "That they were none of them so free as to speak with a demon at length."

  
The angel's expression softens, and they smile. Overhead, an introductory crack of thunder. "Do you recall your... transgression?" they ask.

  
His hands are worrying at his front, plump fingers moving over one another. "I do," he says, quietly. "I asked too many questions. And I believe I may have answered some incorrectly, as well."

  
Their amber eyes are fixed on his. "... I don't see what's so wrong with asking questions," they reply. "Or with making mistakes." they _want_ to say that even God, in all of Her ineffability, had either misjudged Her children or made an error in creating them, and wasn't that a mistake? 

  
But they don't. They go on, " _Or_ with knowing the difference between good and evil."

  
The demon blinks at them again, flustered. "There's-- a grey area, is what I think," he says, like he isn't sure if they're poking fun at him or not. "And I wanted her-- erm, Eve, that is, to understand that."

  
They are standing so close that their hips brush. The angel says, "A moral grey area, yes," absently, and reaches for one of the fruits hanging from the tree, plucking it and weighing it in their hand. "What I don't get is why put it there, if they weren't meant to enjoy it like everything else?"

  
He's fretting, but he's also looking at them, looking and looking like he'll find something in their expression that isn't there. Like their agreement is a trick of the light. "You're an angel," he says, and it feels as though something in his chest is blooming. It will be a long time before he recognizes it as love. "You can't be _agreeing_ with me."

  
The angel takes a bite of the fruit, and juice dribbles down their narrow chin. "She works in mysterious ways," they say, talking with their mouth full, "I do wonder." they offer him the fruit, next, sticky from their palm. He takes it. 

  
"How funny," he replies, sounding faint. "I... I shall endeavor to help you avoid the same fate, I think, as I." he bites into the fruit where they had and earns himself a mouthful of flesh without skin.

  
They laugh. The skies open up above them. "Then I should stay here," they say, and reach out past the leaves to touch the rain, bring their fingers to their mouth and taste. Only water. Not the holy sort. "on this planet?"

  
He extends a wing over their head, and his own is spinning. "Yes," he agrees, "Yes, you should."

  
They share the fruit-- which happens to be a pear-- back and forth until it's gone.

  
"Bit sandy, wasn't it? Not much by way of flavor, either." says Raphael, archangel of the kingdom of God. 

  
"Very sandy." tuts the demon, and later, they leave the garden together.


End file.
